Delusions of Grandiose
by ImmortalFlick
Summary: There you go again. You already know how I killed him! Why is this conversation focused on killing? Slightly weird.
1. Chapter One

Delusions of Grandiose  
  
ImmortalFlick  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.  
  
(/)  
  
"No, I don't have any parents. You know that! Everyone knows that! Oh, don't look at me like that! Everyone knows who I am! I was all over the papers!  
  
No, I suppose there really isn't that much to know about me in the end. I was a child miracle. Everyone knew my name, every step of my school years. Of course the years before that weren't recorded. No one records the jaded years, the years that really mattered, not a lot of people know that, you know? That those were the years that really mattered in my life. The ones the ensured that I would go and kill old Voldemort. They all thought it was because I wanted to save the world.   
  
No, I didn't kill him for the world, it was quite selfish really, probably why it wasn't recorded. I killed him because I wanted a normal life. Not that it did me much good, especially since after I killed him, my popularity tripled, no, quadrupled! It was enormous. I couldn't even breathe without people crowding around. It was one of the worst times in my life.  
  
Do I regret killing dear Voldie? No, I suppose not, you wouldn't, would you? I mean, he threatened my life and he'd killed my parents. Did you expect me to just thank him and walk away?   
  
Yes, it was rather muggle the way I killed him, it was the easiest way. You know, I'm answering all of your questions but you're answering none of mine. Is that completely fair?   
  
There you go again. You already know how I killed him! Why is this conversation focused on killing?   
  
Fine, fine, you want an answer, you know what? So do I! I killed him with a knife to the heart. That good enough for you? Or do you want more gore. Okay, I took the knife out of my sleeve and plunged it into his chest ten times, twisting the knife the last time just for the effect. Then I slowly cut off his head, just so he couldn't be saved. There, I've told you more than you wanted to know. You wanted to know how he died? Well, he was probably dead by the fourth stab but I thought you might like a little more detail, an exclusive, the full story.   
  
No? You're turning a little green. Have I disturbed you?"  
  
End patient #3107 transcript, 19/08/97  
  
(/)  
  
Patient Name: Harry Potter  
  
Patient Number: 3107  
  
Date of admission: 21/02/97  
  
Diagnosis: Delusion Disorder  
  
Notes: Muggle? Patient seems to use reference commonly. Tells same story repeatedly when fully conscious, never recalls other times. Believes I know who he is. Delusions of grandiose? Possible danger. Talks of killing man named 'Voldemort'.   
  
Doctor: Dr Samantha Collins  
  
(/)  
  
Ah well, make of it what you will. A little bunny that hit me. Any one want more? I can write more. Reviews? Please? 


	2. Chapter Two

Delusions of Grandiose  
  
ImmortalFlick  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.  
  
Thanks to: Peeves Gurl, RAiNbOwGrL22, kujagirl2, Beck (I'm being different), .:bunny:., Riffinton, c[R]ud[E]dly (why do people say that? I find it funny!), kinky kisser (good weird?)  
  
*  
  
Chapter Two  
  
*  
  
They think I don't know who they are. Who are they kidding? I know who they are. I see their faces at least once a week. Not that the weeks are very clear any more. Why am I still in here? I don't know. Why haven't I asked? Who would? These people are the epitomes of the 'white coats'. You try explaining things to them. It's hard. Again, why am I in here? Because they put me here.   
  
Firstly, I'd like to say, it wasn't really my fault. For some of it, the bits I've come to accept, I am to blame. But not all. Definitely not all.  
  
Secondly, I'd like to clear something up. I didn't take any part, whatsoever, in the raid that killed my best friends. I'd like to claim zero responsibility for that. I have been blaming myself for years, but in truth, there was nothing, I, nor anyone else, could do to stop it.   
  
We didn't realize in the early years, we didn't realize that all it would take to rid the world of that mad bastard forever was simply good, old bloody death. And that was all it took, in the end. But we were scared, naive, and extremely idealistic. The wizarding world lived a life based on magic, what else was there?  
  
I fought Voldemort all of my teenage life. It wasn't until I was seventeen that I was finally freed of his pressure on my life, but even after his death, his life had repercussions on mine. More power in death than in life, maybe. His influence was stronger than that of Dumbledore. Voldemort had more power in my life than anyone who actually protected me. It turned out Snape was one of my most valuable protectors, he never got any acknowledgement of that from me though, it wasn't until my years here that I even realized it.   
  
It's not like I'll ever see him again to thank him, therefore there's no reason to dwell on niceties. There wasn't much that could've protected me in the end, though, no one to protect me then. It wasn't until I'd been gone for days that they even noticed I was missing. The Dursleys would've been gleefully celebrating my capture had they not been dead. Yes, dead. Voldemort can never go half way. Vernon was the first to die, and I have to say, as much as I hated him, I regret his death. Of course, the amount of damage he'd caused me throughout my life does not lead me to gullible thoughts of unexpressed love. I hated him, he hated me, that still hasn't changed.   
  
I did not martyr myself for the cause and never intended to, even when others had contemplated that outcome many times over. I would not sacrifice myself for the world, not when they hated their child hero more than they loved him. After my capture, as I'd expected, there was no such things as an easy death. A victim is not a victim without feeling true pain. The Cruciatus hurts a lot more than imagined after taking a few potions, courtesy of Voldemort himself.   
  
By that time Snape could not protect me. Just the year before he'd been discovered. I saw it in a vision. I saw the torture and heard the screams of my professor. Of course, the events did not occur, Dumbledore may be a firm leader and manipulator but he does not send friends to their deaths. It's no wonder he didn't consider me a friend.   
  
Dumbledore insisted I stay with the Dursleys, even though I was of legal age in the Muggle world to get my own place. He said it was for protection. I had never felt more betrayed in my life than when the Death Eaters crashed through the front door. It was then I learned that there really was no one left to rely on. Sirius was dead. Professor Lupin had disappeared after fifth year. No one knew where he'd gone but he was certainly gone. I suppose it was too much for him. Sirius was the only one of his closest friends who wasn't dead or a traitor. There was no doubt Sirius' death had hit him harder than me even. I had only known Sirius for two years. It hurts me to say that. But nothing really hurts me anymore.   
  
So they tortured me. At first I was thinking of escape. After a few more days I learned that it wasn't going to happen. Then I spent a few days thinking Dumbledore would save me. That didn't happen either. And time went on. I lost hope. Who wouldn't. Until... Malfoy. There was an unexpected outcome. The little prick decided he didn't want to follow his father. And it was three months after I was captured that I was handed a knife. Not that I knew what I was meant to do with a knife. I think Malfoy expected me to somehow slit the throat of one of the guards and escape. Fat chance. I took the knife straight to Voldemort. You know what happened next. The bastard didn't know what hit him.   
  
How I ended up here? I actually have no idea. No idea whatsoever. But obviously life went on, I was out for a week I was told. When I woke up things moved quickly and they came to the conclusion I was crazy. If I had the opportunity, I would kill each and every one of the confused, sick bastards who came up with that.   
  
I have had no visitors. I have never expected any visitors. Though I would love to know, why a muggle asylum? Maybe they thought they were being humane. Sometimes I wonder why I cared about them at all. Scratch that, I would like to know what the fuck I was thinking when I cared about them! 


	3. Chapter Three

Delusions of Grandiose  
  
ImmortalFlick  
  
Thanks to: RAiNbOwGrL22, c[R]ud[E]dly, Peeves Gurl, FroBoy.  
  
(/)  
  
Did you know the sounds of your own screams get boring after a while? Like you've heard them a hundred times over and you have. I think it's because pain gets boring. It sounds ridiculous but it does. It keeps hurting, but you've been there, done that and own four t-shirts.   
  
I can't say I know everything. I don't. I know I shouldn't be in here. I know I hate my doctor who pretends she doesn't think I'm crazy. I know I hate looking out a glass panel that pretends to be a window. I know I hate the door that pretends it's not locked. It's the Dursleys all over again. This room, painted gaudily white, is like that dark, dank cupboard under the stairs, only more high tech with it's four digit code locks.   
  
I ate my lunch with a plastic knife today. A plastic knife! I would saw off my left leg with that plastic knife just to get a silver one. Like the ones I used to use at Hogwarts. The ones that actually cut.   
  
What's worse is that I ate my soup with a plastic spoon. What do they think I would do with a metal spoon? Gauge my eyes out? I'm not in here for being suicidal. Hell, what am I in here for?   
  
At any given time there are 98 patients here. How do I know? I've counted. Yes, they're not completely inhumane. They let me out of the technical cupboard with four digit code locks. For breakfast. For lunch. For dinner. There is a one hour period, it only began two months ago because of my 'good behaviour', in which I am allowed to sit in the main room. I've been in here three years. I am only now allowed my one hour of freedom. They must consider me pretty dangerous. For the first year meals were alone.   
  
(/)  
  
There's a guy called Tom here. His last name is Smith I think. Tom is clever. And the nurses hate him. He's far too clever. Every single morning, nine o'clock on the dot, alarms will go off. That is because he, once again, has tried to escape. I don't know how he does it. I don't exactly know where he finds the endless will to think up a different escape route every day. But I wish he would take me with him when he finally does make it out.   
  
Helene is a character. I like her. I assume she has some crazy person disorder, but it doesn't show. She's five years older than me, making her 25, her birthday is next week. Helene, unlike me, gets at least two visitors a week. And everyone likes her.   
  
I tend to slip more in the Tom direction there. People don't like me. Whether it because of my eyes or my blatant indifference, they just don't like me. Helene says it's because of the 'vibes' I give out or something. I just think they're all bastards.   
  
There's a clashing of the doors down the hall. Which means either someone's out on bad behaviour, not unlikely, or someone's got a visitor. Maybe it's Yasmin, I hear James has his pretty fiance seeing him soon. He says he'll introduce her.   
  
But the footsteps don't stop at Yasmin's, nor James'. The doctor's here. She's at the door that pretends it's not locked. She's not supposed to be here now. There's a sick feeling in my gut that says run and I laugh at it because I've got nowhere to go.   
  
There's another face at the door. A familiar one.   
  
"Hello Harry."   
  
I feel like vomiting. And I do.  
  
End of Chapter 3  
  
(/)  
  
Well, that's another chapter done. Thanks for all your reviews and hope to hear what you thought! 


	4. Chapter Four

Delusions of Grandiose  
  
ImmortalFlick  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me.  
  
Thanks to: TheDreamsoftheDead, tempusfugit3, Nadezhda, sekhmetreincarnate, hola, c[R]ud[E]dly.  
  
(/)  
  
The nurse cleans me up, her smile is genuine, as if she's not cleaning vomit from a crazy man's clothes. I feel bad for her even though she doesn't look too uncomfortable, her job is to look after people who they lock up. But I can't feel too bad, it's not my fault my stomach just appeared in my mouth.   
  
It's his.   
  
I thought he was dead. Sometimes I hoped he was. When Malfoy said Dumbledore wasn't going to save me, I'd prayed he was six feet under, otherwise it meant he'd forsaken me. My little comfort is that the man looked so old, how can someone grow so old in just three years? I think about myself and sigh. I look older than I am too.   
  
He's waiting outside. This nurse wants me to go, I know it. I think her name is Betty. Isn't that nice? Nurse Betty.   
  
"Betty, Betty, Betty." I repeat it three times under my breath, so that when I get out of here I'll remember to give her my thanks. I don't think it's the appropriate time right now.   
  
She smiles up at me, I think she's flattered I know her name. After all, when I wake up I don't remember being here, do I? It's nice that's she flattered. Nice.  
  
(/)  
  
"I don't want to see him." I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to ever, ever see him again.  
  
"Come on, Harry, just ten minutes." Doctor Samantha Collins is a pretty blonde, thirty-something lady who wouldn't last ten minutes without makeup. She has a lame sense of humor and very white teeth. She doesn't like Helene, which is a change, but Helene doesn't like Collins, so that explains it.  
  
"No."   
  
"I'll let you out an entire day." Bribery. And it's tempting. She doesn't just mean in the main room either, she means outside. An entire day outside would be amazing. It would be... bright.  
  
"Two days." I'll do it for two. I'll do it for two.   
  
"Great!" She's excited because this old man will be my first guest. I don't even know what he's doing here. I don't ever want to know what he's doing here. I just won't let him do a lot of the talking. I've already changed my mind.  
  
(/)  
  
She wants to sedate me before I talk to him. Incase I strangle him or something. An intern has a tray and a syringe. Dumbledore isn't outside any more nor is pretty Doctor Collins. He's been taken to an office to wait for me I suppose. That's what Jessie says they do when his pretty 5'5" girlfriend comes to visit. I've seen her five times. I've only ever seen her in pink.  
  
The intern is a good-looking guy. Open face, no sneer of disgust. I could almost regret doing this to him. He reaches down, a smile on his face. It's funny how they always smile here. I look up at him, I know my bright green eyes are shiny and teary. When he catches my eye he freezes for just a second. Just enough.   
  
I stab him in the throat with the syringe. I hope he will be okay and I whisper my thanks to him for not making any noise. I feel edgy and uncomfortable as I put on his clothes. They don't fit, I'm much shorter than him. And his shoulders are broader. I feel like I'm in a cheesy muggle action movie.   
  
I'm sure everyone's eyes are on me as I close that familiar door and wheel the tray down the hall. My steps are three times louder, my breathing obviously heavy and nervous and my heartbeat out of my chest. I keep my head down. I silently say goodbye to every door I pass.   
  
I'm leaving and I won't miss this place.   
  
(/)  
  
The sun is brighter than I imagined. It's not as if I haven't seen the 'outside' in three years. I see it twice a week. But it's so much brighter now that I know I won't be back in there in another forty minutes, eating my food with a plastic knife.  
  
I've been running for half an hour at least, my sides hurt and my breath comes quick. I'm on the side of a busy street. I don't even know what city I'm in. I want to keep running and never stop. It feels like every where I am Dumbledore could be right behind me, gaining on me. I don't know what he's doing looking for me now and I don't care.   
  
I'm finally out and I wish Tom was here to share the triumph with me.  
  
Only now I have no where to go.   
  
And I just might be crazy after all.  
  
But that's normal.  
  
(/)  
  
End of chapter 4 


	5. Chapter Five

Delusions of Grandiose  
  
A/N: Wow, I've hit an all time low. 2 reviews. Thanks a heap to all those who didn't review (sarcasm).   
  
Thanks to:  
  
Parody-of-an-Angel: Thank you! You'll see! I've updated, it took a while, for that I apologize.  
  
Alan Quicksilver: Thanks! I hope you'll look forward to the next chapter with equal fervor.  
  
(/)  
  
Chapter 5  
  
(/)  
  
Where do I go now? Do I find some worn down hotel? Do I sleep under a bridge? Do I try to find the Weasleys? Or do they still hate me for Ron and Hermione? Do I look for Lupin? I didn't think about any of this. I finally know how institutionalized I am. There was no 'what then?' for me. Escaping was a dream to be only dreamed of, not achieved.   
  
A woman stares at me as she walks past in what appear to be five inch heels. I know I must look sick, I don't eat much and they like to feed me through needles when I don't. At least that doesn't involve plastic cutlery.  
  
I've lived out of the world for so long that the loudness and business of it all makes me dizzy.   
  
It takes another look around for the situation to penetrate my foggy mind. I have no idea where I am. Bloody hell.  
  
"Excuse me," I try to grab one of the passing locals.   
  
She shakes me off with a disgusted look.   
  
I try again. "Could you tell me-" He looks more frightened than revolted.  
  
I wonder how I end up here, somewhere off the map, with nothing. You'd think after everything in my life things could only get better. You'd think wrong.   
  
"Pardon, sir-" I even try to be polite. The man reminds me strangely of Vernon.  
  
Just as I reach out to harass another woman something completely unpredictable and unlikely happens. Something all odds are against.  
  
I see Draco Malfoy.  
  
The blond haired prick in the flesh. Looking older, yes, but undoubtedly the one and only Draco Malfoy.  
  
He stops. His eyes widen. He's seen me. It takes a split second of control to fight the urge to run.   
  
"Potter!" He yells from across the street. I would stupefy him if I had my wand. But I don't and my next option would be to run and never look back. I stop myself because Malfoy seems to be the only person who wants to talk to me in this hectic city.   
  
He crosses and I wonder if he'll get run over before he reaches me. It would be ironic, wouldn't it? But he doesn't, it was a close call.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" He sounds surprised, stunned even, a priceless look on his face.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I reply, keeping my tone even, in control.  
  
He stares at me in silence for a few seconds, before he shakes his head. "Shit Potter, do you even know where you are?" Malfoy hasn't lost that superior sneer.  
  
I don't want to tell him I don't. But I don't. "Not particularly."  
  
"America, Potter, America!" Really? I'm hardly surprised. Lock me up in a different country, no one would ever find me in this lost continent.  
  
"And you are here... why?" Running away, was he?  
  
"You do realize everyone in the wizarding world thinks you're insane?"  
  
"Do I sound insane, Malfoy?" I genuinely want to know this. Is there something in my voice that screams 'insane!'?   
  
To my surprise Malfoy laughs. "I've always thought you were crazy but this is ridiculous."  
  
I throw away all my worries about Malfoy, he's my chance, my opportunity and I'll be damned if I don't take that opportunity. "Get me out of this country, I'll pay you."  
  
"Back to Britain I suppose?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow at me, he was one of those people who managed to convey a lot through a raised eyebrow. I wince as I realize I don't actually have any money, the ministry would've taken it when I got shipped away. I also realize Malfoy would know that too.  
  
"Anywhere away from here." A large man bustles past me, his elbow contacting my back in a painful gesture, I wince. I've already decided I hate America.   
  
He looks me over with a calculating glance which reminds me of when we were back in school. "I can do that."  
  
(/)  
  
Malfoy is staying in a hotel that can only be described with one phrase. Five star. It even smells outrageously expensive.  
  
"So you don't live here?" I ask, wondering what Malfoy, the muggle-hating ex Death Eater (from what I've guessed), is doing in muggle New York.  
  
"I'm here on business." Not running away then.  
  
"What business?" I don't expect him to answer.  
  
And he doesn't. "Why should I tell you?"  
  
"Why shouldn't you? I'm insane, who am I going to tell?"  
  
I have no problem calling myself insane, sometimes I think it might be the correct term.  
  
"Shut up Potter, I'm doing you a favor." He's right, he is doing me a favor, I wouldn't help me were I him.  
  
"When do we leave?" More to the point, how do we leave?  
  
"Tomorrow morning. Be awake at 4 or I leave you behind."  
  
4? In the morning? What a bloody stupid idea.   
  
"Try seven." I say sarcastically. There is no way I'm going to get up at 4 o'clock in the morning.  
  
"Try you stay here forever." Malfoy retorts, mocking my tone perfectly. I would find that amusing were I not so horrified over my schedule. "The plane leaves at six, we have to be there at five. You are going to get up at four."  
  
I heard nothing after the word plane. "Excuse me?" I whisper.  
  
Malfoy looks at me, annoyed. "We have to be there at five-"  
  
"We're taking a plane?" I ask before he can finish.  
  
A slow and evil grin appears on the man's face. "Yes, we are."  
  
"Why the fuck can't we apparate?!"  
  
The grin stays in place. "Do you have your wand, Potter?" I don't say anything. I don't have my wand, I haven't seen it since before Voldie got to me.   
  
"Fuck." I hate planes. I hate the idea of planes. I've never actually been on one.  
  
Malfoy already seems to be bored of the conversation.   
  
"Put on some respectable clothes, Potter, you look like you've just stumbled out of a hospital."  
  
I stare down at the white top and pants and I agree. A hospital or a loony bin. The interns sure had a boring uniform.  
  
"Do you think I have any other clothes? What would I have, considering where I've been?" I snap, angry at the reminder of my lack of possessions.   
  
There is a pause, a look of confusion. "Where have you been, Potter?"  
  
I gape at him. What is he talking about? "You mean you don't know?"  
  
"Well Dumbledore said you'd run away, said you were insane, couldn't be helped. I never quite did believe him about the insane part, but I thought you'd took your money and ran away." I laugh inside. Funny, that's what I thought you did.  
  
The inescapable irony of the whole deal is overwhelming. I finally let it get to me and I laugh until tears are running down my cheeks, and I keep laughing. Malfoy is looking at me like I'm was crazy but I can't stop. It's too funny.   
  
"I was in an muggle mental hospital," I finally managed to gasp out, my ribs are aching but I still can't stop. "I just escaped."  
  
Malfoy is speechless. His mouth is moving up and down but he's saying nothing. It just makes the whole situation funnier.   
  
"For Merlin's- Potter, shut up. This is not the slightest bit funny. You are bloody insane." Malfoy's tired voice brings me back down to earth. I stop laughing and swallow it. He's right for once. The colossal prick is right. This isn't funny.   
  
"Do you know who put you there?" He asks. Everything in this room smells off and I can't help but feel uncomfortable as he stares at me seriously.  
  
"Dumbledore." I mutter. I wonder if the old man is following me right now. "He's here."  
  
"In New York?" Malfoy asks in surprise.  
  
"He came to... visit... me."  
  
"What did he say?" He sounded interested. Not a good sign.  
  
"Didn't wait around to hear it."   
  
"Fucking hell."  
  
"You're profane."  
  
"Time does that to you."  
  
"You haven't changed a bit."  
  
"I wish I could say the same about you." Malfoy sounds tired again. Exhausted. I wonder what has happened while I've been out. Voldemort's gone but it sounds like there's a whole new problem. I'll interrogate Malfoy tomorrow.  
  
I pass off the comment to settle something I've been wondering about since we got here. Besides the small worry of being stabbed in the chest in the middle of the night. Dinner.  
  
"Do I get fed, Malfoy?"  
  
He stares at me, I've interrupted his mumbling to himself. "I'll call room service." He stands up. Before he reaches the phone I remember something.  
  
"Tell them I want silver cutlery." He stops at looks back, his icy gray eyes on me.   
  
"What else would they give you?" He's shaking his head like I'm something that can't be helped.  
  
"Just tell them, not plastic."  
  
I don't care that it's a five star hotel in New York. I don't care that it's highly unlikely that they'd give me plastic knives and forks. The odds have always been against me, after all, look who I ran into today, look at my whole life! I just care that I don't eat my first real dinner in three years with plastic cutlery.   
  
(/)  
  
End of chapter 5  
  
The little 'Submit Review' is there for a reason. Obviously very few of you can make use of it. Pfft. What do I care? I love this fic! 


	6. Chapter Six

Thanks to: SidheLady (apologies accepted happily!), JaCee, Gracie, DeathzBeauty, blulily07, Elven Warrior1.  
  
Alan Quicksilver: ... I feel bad now! I know I'm working on an ungodly amount of stories, I don't actually expect to have people waiting for chapters (I'm still not used to it), so I write at my own pace. I believe this story requires the right frame of mind as well, so that's what influences when I write it. I hope I can be forgiven and I will try to get in the right frame of mind more often!  
  
Crescendo: About Draco: you'll see. There was no paying for the disposal of Voldemort, Harry was abandoned and did it on his own to escape. The wizarding world were told some lies about Harry, which we will discover later on.  
  
Parody-of-an-Angel: All is forgiven, and cutlery will appear more later on, so be prepared!  
  
c[R]ud[E]dly: Resists puppydogeyes(TM) valiantly and finally succeeds. Regretfully, I have to say no to that one. It doesn't fit where this is going.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
I'm beginning to wake up. Bugger. It's so warm in here. It's like being in an oven. I roll over sleepily. And hit a soft, cushiony floor. That's right. I look up at the couch, a faint sour taste in the back of my mouth. Stupid thing.  
  
"Potter, you've ruined my fun." The familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy drifts from the doorway. I stare up at him through the haze. I notice his hair is as immaculate as ever. Even at whatever unholy hour this is.  
  
"What a shame." I manage to spit out. I'm starving.  
  
"You have half an hour to be ready."  
  
I don't even need a quarter. I have no possessions, I even have to ask him for clothes, which I haven't done yet (no doubt all his clothes are gold trimmed or silk).  
  
"You'll need clothing," Right in one. "You may borrow some of mine," That said with a sneer of distaste. "Here is your passport." He throws a small book at me. It has my picture on the inside.  
  
When did he have time to get this? When I was sleeping?  
  
I look up at him. I don't know what the stupid thing is. "Well?"  
  
"For fucks sake." He says, frustration showing through the arrogance, I think I'm causing strain. How nice. "It will get you through customs."  
  
Again I stare at him. Does he not get it? "And customs is?"  
  
"Muggle security." He answers shortly. Malfoy takes one last glance around the room. "I'll get you some clothes." He leaves.  
  
I look over the small book. If Malfoy can get this thing this easily, muggle security is crap.  
  
---  
  
Malfoy's clothes are comfortable but I feel a bit like a poof. Silk shirts are not my thing.  
  
"What happened to everybody?" I ask quietly, the plane is too loud for anyone but Malfoy to hear me anyway. The people behind us are practically yelling at each other, a married couple in an argument. According to her he's had an affair, is shipping his mistress over to London on this same plane, and planning to leave her when they get there. According to him, she only thinks he's having an affair because she's always out, and he told everyone on the plane they don't have sex anymore.  
  
I'm a little shocked Malfoy answers, he's been quiet for the first hour. "Most of them died in the last stretch of the war. Weasley and Granger died, as you know, they were just the beginning."  
  
"I didn't do that." I mutter. Everyone's always suspected I did. The Weasleys took a step away from me, the sort of friendly coldness you expect from in-laws. Fudge took the matter head on but was fobbed off by Dumbledore (one thing I can thank the old coot for). "What about Snape?"  
  
"Alive. Fine. Trying to retire from teaching, Dumbledore insists he stay until another Potions Professor is available." Snape was one person I fully expected to die in the war. It wasn't too bad to be proved wrong.  
  
I sat back in the seat. I still don't know why I ended up in America.  
  
The couple are now giving each other the silent treatment and waiting the trip out. I heft myself around.  
  
There's a spare seat between them. I figure, why not?  
  
As I'm doing up the seat belt happily both of them are staring at me. This is much better than sitting next to Malfoy, who discreetly gives me disdainful looks. It can't be because I'm ungroomed, Nurse Betty was rather expert at shaving, my hair is so short is has no room to be messy like it once was, the only downside of this is that my scar is painstakingly obvious. Why Nurse Betty could cut my hair when I was even more miserable there than I was at the Dursleys. Maybe because she was a pretty girl who looked to be only 20.  
  
"Is it true, then?" I ask, genuinely curious, probably due to my pitifully isolated life for the past three years.  
  
"Is what true?" The lady, Carrie from what I'd heard, replied stiffly.  
  
"No sex for the past year?" I don't know how these two could sleep in the same bed for a year and not have sex, it must be a pretty big dispute, considering the woman is almost as pretty as Nurse Betty is, in her mid-thirties and the husband isn't bad looking either.  
  
"I don't see how it's your business." The man snaps, looking uncomfortable. I'm not surprised, I have invaded their personal space.  
  
I laugh easily. "I think that your business has turned into everyone's business on this plane by now."  
  
Now they both fidget guiltily.  
  
"Look, you're going on holiday, you should have a good time, why don't you sort this out now?"  
  
There's a long, drawn-out silence in which they alternate their gazes from me to each other. This may be a deprived man's entertainment but I find it amusing anyway.  
  
"She's cheating on me!" Edward finally bursts out, his face red with embarrassment (probably from me butting into their dispute) and anger (from his suspicions).  
  
"What?! You're cheating on me, you bastard!" Carrie glares at him.  
  
I see. What jealousy does to a relationship.  
  
"I think it's safe to say neither of you are straying." I say after they've had their little staring contest.  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
"What don't we all know? You're practically putting your broken marriage on an in-flight entertainment documentary." I don't point out that it was actually a whole lot better than the shit that's playing at the moment.  
  
They fidget guiltily once more, the tired circles under their eyes more prominently displayed now their dagger glares have disappeared.  
  
I want to fix their marriage. I'm a sad, lonely man who has been stuffed into a mental hospital in a foreign country by people he trusted and wants to repair a marriage he has nothing to do with. If that man were not me I would laugh. I laugh loudly anyway, drawing confused glances from the couple and anyone who overheard the conversation.  
  
Edward and Carrie ignore me for as long as possible before Ed cracks.  
  
"What's so funny?" He asks, sounding like a petulant child.  
  
I don't answer, just keep the smile on my face. It reminds me I'm real.  
  
"You two. You could be happy yet you both throw it away for this argument. Do you enjoy it?"  
  
I admit it's my turn to feel guilty when Carrie bursts into tears. She burrows her head into my shoulder and I'm not sure what I should be doing.  
  
"I love him, but he doesn't love me!" She wails. Ed tries to look unconcerned. He fails.  
  
"I'm sure he loves you." I give Ed a pointed look.  
  
He hesitates but says it anyway. "I do love you."  
  
"You love her more!"  
  
"There is no her, Carrie, I'm not cheating on you!"  
  
It's sweet really, her crying into the stranger's shoulder, her husband denying the adultery accusations, all the while being increasingly sickening.  
  
"Really?" She whispers.  
  
"Really." He kisses her.  
  
All this right in front of my face. Her elbow is pressing sharply into my shoulder. Malfoy's shirt is damp now, sticking to my side. I feel out of place. And there's a painful pang in my chest as I try not to watch them.  
  
"Merlin, you guys are slow." I sigh, the use of 'Merlin' earning a confused glance from the couple.  
  
They spend the rest of the flight snogging shamelessly. I'm not sure which was worse, their arguing or their making up.  
  
They both thank me on the way out, giving me their number and saying they owed me one. No doubt it will be a very happy vacation for them.  
  
Malfoy looks slightly less grateful.  
  
"What was that show about?!" He spits out. "They were muggles!"  
  
I feel my temper rising. "I can do what I like, Malfoy, you can't stop me!"  
  
"Dumbledore was right, you are fucking crazy!"  
  
"Whatever, Malfoy."  
  
But as we walk out of long sterile looking hallway, Malfoy begins to look nervous. The more nervous he gets, the more nervous I get. What is he worried about? I reluctantly follow beside him.  
  
"Potter, you aren't a bad human being."  
  
"Thank you," I remark dryly. Let it be known, Malfoy isn't one for tact.  
  
"It was good thinking to shut the muggles up."  
  
What's he getting at?  
  
"You know, maybe you should have stayed in America. No one would recognize the 'famous Boy-Who-Lived' there. You could have lived anonymously."  
  
This isn't like Malfoy at all, what's going on.  
  
"I'm beginning to wonder if I'm doing the right thing after all," He continues.  
  
Something is terribly wrong.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore. No.  
  
I turn to Malfoy.  
  
Somehow I manage to read an apology in his blank expression. The prick.  
  
I run.  
  



	7. Chapter Seven

0-0  
  
I quickly find there's not many places to run to in an airport. I've apologized twenty-three times after smashing into twenty-three people, I stopped after that because my chest had tightened and I could hardly gasp out 'sorry'.  
  
I've either surprised Dumbledore or he won't risk cursing me in such a public place. I'll go for the second one. I have never managed to shock the old man, even though I've changed, I doubt he has.  
  
When I burst through the sliding door I don't wait to see if they're following me. Again, I'm running to nowhere and this time Malfoy won't be helping me.  
  
"Watch where you're fucking going!" A tall man yells after me, I've knocked two bags out of his hand and I'm pretty sure I heard something break so I'm not going to go back and cut out his tongue. He doesn't know the circumstances. I'm sure if he was in my situation he'd think slightly differently.  
  
My lungs are burning. My legs are numb. My head is aching in sympathy. I'm unfit, that much is obvious. I haven't exercised this much since quidditch. I'd much rather this never happened and I stay unfit. But then, beyond that, I'd much rather my whole life had begun differently, maybe then I would finally be able to delete the slow disasters that would ruin me piece by piece and leave me in a white room.  
  
It is now I decide to stop. There is nowhere to go anyway. I'm running to nowhere. How ironic.  
  
At least I know which country I'm in this time. Safe, controlled England. Well, my experiences with this country should tell me otherwise but I cannot leash my attachment to this place, it runs through my blood. This is my home.  
  
"Catch me if you can," I mutter in a self-mocking effort to lift my spirits.  
  
"Sir? Sir, I think you dropped this?" A girl steps up to me. I'm not sure what she's holding but before I can ask it's in my hand and she's running away.  
  
I watch her, in her blue skirt and knitted jersey, as she disappears around the corner. She looks so familiar.  
  
I look down at my hands. It's a piece of... paper? Parchment! I immediately think Dumbledore and curse myself for not having a wand.  
  
Hogsmeade, WWW, say 'the snitch is playing hard to get'. We can help you.  
  
WWW? Why do I know that?  
  
Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.  
  
This is where I make my decision. There are so many reasons for the Weasleys not to trust me.  
  
I realize my decision is already made. There is nowhere else to go for me. It's there or I'm left on my own with nothing. There never was a decision to make.  
  
0-0  
  
End of Chapter 7  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Sorry about the length.  
  
FroBoy: Malfoy betrayed him, he was working for Dumbledore. 


	8. Chapter Eight

0-0

Chapter Eight

0-0

I still haven't figured out if they're going to kill me or not. Revenge and all that. But now I'm sure that little girl is a Weasley. It's strange. Like being stuck in the past. I wonder whose she is. One of the twins, probably, it's their shop I'm going to.

I didn't wait to recover. I don't want to say it but I'm petrified Dumbledore will find me and stick me back into an asylum again. I don't think I could stand that after escaping.

I am walking to Hogsmeade. It sounds ridiculous but I can't risk going on the Knight Bus. Dumbledore will keep tabs on that. So I figure all I have to is find Kings Cross Station and follow the tracks. I can't take the underground, I have no money and I wouldn't know how to anyway, so I'm in for a very long walk.

I ask a man for directions. He gives me a disbelieving look, I think because he is wondering why I don't take the underground, but tells me anyway. I thank him, sigh, and start walking. The betrayal is in the very front of my mind and inescapably strong.

After a very long hour of envying the drivers who sweep past me doing 50 miles an hour, I catch a ride with an outgoing old man who tells me about each one of his nineteen grandchildren in detail. I welcome the distraction. I learn that Timothy turned nine in July and wants to be like his older brother Ian, who is a firefighter. Their cousin, Eleanor, has just had her first child with her husband Dean, she is a photographer. I know embarrassing stories about when Roland was three and a half. I know how Amanda once had chicken pox. I wonder if the ride was really that long or if the man just talks that much. I could tell you that Wyatt flunked out of some prestigious school to join a band and that Connor, his youngest brother, lost his first tooth yesterday.

I could tell you many, many things about the Cameron family but I won't because we just arrived at Kings Cross Station and my attention is elsewhere. Before I leave I thank Leo and as an afterthought I ask the date.

"1 September, 2000." He answers and I freeze. There is no way. But it seems there is. There is no sour luck like mine.

I look at the clock. 4:30pm. I could have stowed away if I'd arrived five hours earlier. Now I just have to stick to my original plan and follow the tracks. There are no words for how bitter that makes me feel. Life seems to blow up in my face on purpose. I wish I could do to it in kind.

0-0

I notice as I walk that my stomach appears to be eating itself. I have a strange yearning for roast chicken right now. Roast chicken with ice-cream. And pistachio nuts. Is this what happens when you're about to die of starvation? You get weird cravings? I suppose I should know, having lived with the Dursleys for sixteen years.

I slept under the stars and I felt the cold. I have been institutionalized for the past three years, I haven't adapted to this harsh weather and am ill-equipped for the situation. Despite this, I didn't freeze to death and I was able to get up in the morning to continue on my way.

I imagine Ron walking beside me with his usual grin. And maybe Hermione on my right, chatting about exams, her book back gently bouncing off her knee as she steps. I imagine answering a question one of them asks with a carefree laugh. I think of how we smile at each other. How Ron and Hermione look at each other when they think no one is watching. Ron and Hermione walk beside me and I'm happy. But they're not really there and, as crazy and unbalanced as I may be, I do realize that. It hurts to know I'm alone inside my head and I'm alone for real. If I dreamt that night I don't remember it. It is a relief, usually I don't sleep for the nightmares.

"Just a few more steps," I lie to myself. It is the only encouragement I have.

It is with great surprise that I see the beginnings of Hogsmeade. Surprise and overwhelming relief.

I duck my head as I pass the Three Broomsticks. I don't want anyone to recognize me, the havoc it would cause would have Dumbledore on me before I knew it. However, I cannot stop myself from staring at it longingly. What I wouldn't give for a butterbeer. Beyond that, what I wouldn't give to be back when I could walk in there with my friends and not worry about Dumbledore incarcerating me. Coming back here has made me nostalgic. The sight of these shops unharmed by Voldemort and age makes me feel like I haven't been away for so long. And maybe I haven't.

Opposite Honeydukes I find the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. A hint of apprehension creeps into my mind as I turn the handle. Apprehension of what? I don't think I fear death anymore. I'm too tired to. More tired than I could've imagined at fifteen, when I thought my life sucked beyond any degree to which it had before. But I fear... atonement? No, that's not right. It's something completely different to that. I'm afraid of judgment. I fear my day of reckoning. To be less dramatic: I fear the Weasleys blaming me.

I am ushered in immediately. Someone mutters a spell and the sign says closed. I recognize the person holding my arm. She is...

"Eloise?" I manage to ask as I realize where I know her from.

She smiles brilliantly but there is a bit of worry in there.

Before I can say anything else - but I don't know what it is I would say - Fred and George are in my face. They look older. Why am I surprised? Do I forget that this happens? People get old. They go cold and they die.

"Harry." One nods seriously. They look more grim than I've ever seen them.

I can't say anything though. It's as if my hunger and fatigue, both mental and physical, catch up with me.

"He needs to eat." I hear Eloise say. I agree. Starvation seems less of a joke than it did a few hours ago.

In spite of their anxious expressions they all exchange a look which seems to make them come to a decision.

"We're taking you to the Burrow, Harry, is that okay?" George asks. I think he thinks I'm still a kid. Or perhaps he believes I'm insane. Of course, I probably don't look entirely certifiable, so I really don't blame him.

"That's fine." I say, more shaken up than I will admit.

"We're not going to hurt you." Fred assures me.

I wonder if there's a look on my face that makes them think I think that. Do I look like I'm terrified out of my mind? I suppose I've said all of three words and that reflects on exactly how I'm feeling. I don't think I'm entirely coherent. Very soon I will have to face the family of my dead best friend. It's strange, all I can think is that they don't use plastic knives and forks at the Burrow.

0-0


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: So sorry about the wait. Thanks for all your reviews.**

**  
Chapter Nine**

It strikes me, as I Iook into the weary eyes of Albus Dumbledore, that I am a pawn in his chess game. It is fitting though, that I am led to my capture by the Weasleys. I am beginning to suspect that I did actually have something to do with Ron's death, however indirectly. I hope, wherever he is now, that he's not cursing the day he sat with me on the Hogwarts Express.

"Good morning, Albus," I say, a smile on my face that must make me look as demented as I am no doubt said to be.

"Harry." Albus greets me, token twinkle absent for once.

"Shall I kill you now, or should I wait to hear your excuses?" I ask, my fists clenching. I think I might actually believe I can for a moment. Or at least I pretend to believe.

I am grabbed from behind before he can reply. I can't help but hate that particular Weasley twin. George, I think.

"Dumbledore, I don't think this is a good idea." Fred. I always liked Fred.

"I am very sorry, Harry, this is a bit of a misunderstanding."

Misunderstanding? A misunderstanding is forgetting my name. A misunderstanding is a botched OWL mark. How is shutting me up in an institution in another continent a misunderstanding? A misinterpretation of my craziness, perhaps? A slightly off-kilter madness scale?

"I'll show you misunderstanding." I growl, ready to rip his throat out.

"Now, now, Potter, don't go murdering the most important man in the wizarding world." Blond hair. Not him. Not again.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" In the Burrow of all places. His filthy presence here is wrong.

"Just doing my job." He said cheerfully. But there was something... concern? Worry? Caution? All foreign expressions on Malfoy and therefore unrecognisable.

"You're a liar, Malfoy."

"A cheat, thief, murdering bastard, manipulating coward. I've heard it all before and I deny nothing." Still as casual as if he'd never fooled me into thinking he was a good guy.

I stare at him, taking in his poncy clothing, his slicked back hair. It occurs to me that he really hasn't changed since Hogwarts. Like that was miniature Draco Malfoy and now it's the life sized version. I wonder if I look the same or if being hospitalised has changed me. It wouldn't surprise me, I haven't exactly looked in the mirror lately to check. Not even in the hotel room. Strange. I didn't think to look. I guess I just didn't want to see what that place had done to me. If it had driven me mad, you know, like I'd gained a large neon sign saying "I'm completely nutters". I laugh at the thought.

"Mad," Malfoy mutters and I laugh harder. "Completely mad."

I just barely catch the chastising glance Malfoy gets from Dumbledore. I frown. Right under the old man's thumb. Like an insect ready to be squished.

"We need you, Harry. The world needs you." Somehow that line comes straight from a comic book. Like I'm the fabulous Boy-Who-Lived, ready to save the world from its latest terror. Wait, I am. Harry Potter, Superhero. And I can't bring myself to crack a smile. No wonder there.

I jerk a little in George's grip and find it like iron. Beater's arms, I guess. "You certainly didn't need me before." I sneer. Almost Snape level, I like to think. How dare they come back to me after disposing of me so disgustingly?

Then Dumbledore utters the only sentence that could ever make my stomach sink down to my shoes. "Voldemort is back."

When Dumbledore announced their need for me, I'd assumed it was a whole new problem, but it seemed it was just the exact same one. Like life was dealing me the same shit over and over. How could this happen? Three years ago I thought I'd finally killed that monster. He really is inhuman.

My knees buckle suddenly and George, startled, lets go. I don't run though, I should, but I don't. Instead I just sink to the ground. I curl my knees up to my chest, pressing hard, and drop my head. It's like all of the fight has been sucked out of me through a syringe.

There is a sickly silence in the room. No one wants to comfort a crazy person, no one wants to further anger them. So they leave me be. And I can't breathe with the weight of it.


End file.
